Another October
by Loafer
Summary: Established Lassiet. (Please read that again if you didn't get it the first time.) Carlton & Juliet get help from a mystery informant while trying to bring a murderer to justice. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: nothing has changed from the last time. I stole these characters from that Steve Franks dude.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: T  
><strong>Description<strong>: Established **Lassiet**. (Please read that again if you didn't get it the first time.) Carlton & Juliet get help from a mystery informant while trying to bring a murderer to justice.

This story is sort of a followup kinda thingy to my "Haunting of Lassiter & O'Hara" from last year. You don't need to read that to understand this one, but there are references to it, and it explains how they got together.

**P.S. This story is dedicated to Dragonmactir,** whose ongoing Lassiter-centric tales inspired me to dust off my own Lassiter-appreciation one more time. Oh, and howdy to **NessD**, who asked me awhile back if I would ever return. :-)

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The afternoon sun spiked its way through the bullpen, illuminating Juliet O'Hara in more than her usual golden glow as she rose from her desk. Carlton couldn't help but smile at her natural loveliness, and when she caught his gaze, she smiled back.

His phone buzzed, and Carlton picked it up off the stack of casefiles.

Blinking with momentary puzzlement at the display, he realized quickly it was probably a junk call, and connected only long enough to disconnect again.

Juliet brought him another folder as the phone began to ring once more. "Debt collector?" she teased.

Carlton scowled at the screen. "The spam bastards have learned all kinds of new tricks." He showed her the screen, which was the same as before.

She frowned. "But that's _your_ number."

"I know." He pressed the talk and end-call buttons in quick succession. "The spammers think you'll be so curious about why your _own_ name and number are on the screen that you won't be able to resist answering."

"Cool technology, though. Lot of trouble to go to just to sell siding or Viagra." She dropped her voice and added with a wicked smile, "Not that you'd need _that_."

He felt his cheeks flaming—damn woman could still do that to him even after the past year—and started to shoo her lascivious self away when the phone rang once more. "Son of a—" he began, but stopped.

"What is it?" When he didn't respond, she took the phone out of his hands. "Wow."

The screen read _Talk To Me, Lassiter_.

It wasn't a text; it was where the name and number of the caller would be. Where his own name and number had been a moment ago.

She handed it back at once. "I think you're supposed to answer."

Yeah, kinda hard to miss the hint. He said into the receiver, with more than his usual crispness, "I'm busy. What?"

Juliet leaned in close to listen to the melodious male voice on the other end say, "_You_ wasted your time, not me. I have information about the Bates case."

"Which is?" He was trying not to be distracted by Juliet's fragrance.

"Meet me tonight. There's an abandoned building at 2613 Addams. It's safe to enter, and the door will be ajar. Come to the front left corner room at 9:15." The voice paused, but continued before Carlton could speak. "You don't want to pass this up, Detective. It'll help you put Bates behind bars."

The line went silent, and Carlton stared at the phone a moment.

Juliet straightened up. "I'm in."

"Just like that?"

"Informants help us every day. I thought you'd jump on anything to get cuffs on Bates."

"I will. I am. I just expected more caution from you. _You're_ the sensible one, O'Hara," he reminded her.

She grinned. "Don't call me that, _Carly_."

He rolled his eyes, she laughed, and when she'd gone back to her own desk, he reviewed the Bates investigation for the eightieth time.

The man was suspected of murdering his wife and his girlfriend in the same night, the former because she wanted a divorce and the latter because she was threatening to tell his wife about their affair. Thing was—as if that wasn't quite bad enough—he'd somehow managed to frame each dead woman for the murder of the other. It was pretty slick but Carlton knew, like he knew the weight of each bullet in his service revolver, that Jason Bates had killed both women, and if talking to someone who could effortlessly jack up his cell phone display was one way to catch him, so be it.

He was curious about what the caller _could_ possibly know. Bates, who dabbled in real estate, the stock market, questionable art acquisitions and gambling, was notoriously tight-lipped about everything, and kept all his affairs—business and otherwise—extremely private. He didn't have a true 'right hand man' because he trusted no one. The things he was suspected of doing, he was suspected of doing directly. His underlings never had more than a few bits of information each, and no matter how willing they might be (generally for legal reasons) to cooperate with the police, they never had much to whet the D.A.'s appetite.

This approach had kept Bates out of jail so far, but Carlton wasn't giving up any time soon. The murders of two women who'd done nothing more than fall for a lying sociopath weren't going into any damned cold case file as long as he was still a cop.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Juliet stopped him at the door to the condo and gave him a kiss. "For luck."

"I thought you were coming with me."

"Hell yeah I am." She holstered her weapon. "But we're not supposed to make out in the car."

"Silly Vick rules," he agreed, and pulled her close again, still marveling that he was even _allowed_ to, that the smile on her lovely face was for him, and that the taste of her lips was one both familiar and wondrous every time.

"You'd think she'd make an exception since it's nearly our anniversary," Juliet said breathlessly.

Odd to think it was a full year ago they'd started this union, in a creepy mansion where a dark and dreadful painting lurked. That night, amid the terror, the two of them had acknowledged a lot of feelings and from then on, occasional bumps in the road aside, there had been no turning back.

Chief Vick, when they confessed to her, sighed and simply said, "Don't make me regret allowing you to stay partners," and they quietly and discreetly wrapped up in each other at home as well as at work. Still, he doubted he'd be asking Vick if it was okay to French-kiss his girlfriend in the Crown Vic.

He kissed her again, enjoyed her purr, and they went to do that thing they did so well. Buckled up and on the way, Juliet asked, "Any theories about the informant?"

He shrugged. "With as much surveillance as we've had on Bates, it's gotta be one of his known associates."

"I reviewed that list too and I didn't see anyone who was likely to know how to alter phone number displays. He doesn't let anyone smarter than he is close to him."

"Then it's an unknown associate of this unknown known associate."

She smirked. "Very helpful, Carlton. Almost a Shawnian thing to say."

He bristled automatically. "You take that back, woman."

"I take nothing back. Oh, there's Addams. Turn right."

The building at 2613 was three stories tall, dark and silent. The businesses on each side were equally dark and silent—an antiques shop, a hair salon, a used bookstore—but there was something even darker and more silent about 2613.

Juliet eyed the structure through her window. "I…"

"What?" Her hesitation sharpened his own unexpected sense of unease.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," she said decisively, unbuckling her belt. "Your informant may be legit but this feels like a bad place."

It did, but he had to remind her: "He may not talk to me unless I'm alone."

"True. But I have a gun, so he'll have to suck it up." She got out of the car, and Carlton followed suit.

Quarter after nine wasn't exactly the dead of night, but even approaching the building—and the _hell_ with his years of experience—Carlton couldn't help but think it felt more like three a.m.

Three a.m…. in a cemetery.

Where things moved which… shouldn't.

Yeah… last year's adventure with the late Cartavious Pumphrey had been a lesson in never being too sure about 'reality.' Several lessons, if he counted ending up with Juliet in his arms every night.

She stopped in front of the main entrance, which thanks to the streetlights they could both see was ajar a few inches just as promised. "Are you sure about this?" Her voice was low, her posture tense.

"I'm sure I want to take the chance. Check the perimeter, O'Hara." His use of her surname was deliberate: they were cops, on duty, and this was a job.

"Stuff it, Lassiter," was her prompt response. "We're going in together."

The heavy door creaked, not surprisingly, and their shadows slashed the small lobby beyond. Cracked tile floor had once been ornate, and the silence which enveloped the building from outside was even heavier inside.

It was creepy, but Carlton sensed no other presence. After last year's 'adventure,' he trusted his instincts on this point.

"This way." He touched her arm, gesturing to the left, where another door stood open an inch or so.

On the other side, they found a mustier and tinier anteroom which contained only a broken-down desk. He didn't bother looking for light switches; Juliet had her flashlight on already and was checking the place out.

He did the same, and his light swept across one final door, this one with a cracked and murky stained-glass panel, which surely led to the room where his informant waited.

"I'm going in," he whispered. "You're not."

He knew she knew he wasn't protecting her. He knew she knew he had to go in alone.

"Don't you move one foot from the other side of that door," she whispered back fiercely.

A few seconds after turning off their flashlights, they both made out the dimmest of light from underneath that old door, no doubt from the streetlight shining through the front window. No motion disturbed this faint light.

Silence all around.

Carlton drew himself up, kept his hand on his weapon, and turned the knob.

As soon as he was inside, the voice from the phone commanded, "Give her your flashlight and close the door. Yes, I know she's here. Do as I say."

This was a demand he could meet, and as he turned to hand his light to Juliet, he saw—and drew power from—her steely and undeniably possessive gaze in the seconds before the light was gone and solid wood came between them.

He kept his back to the door, scanning the shadows of what had once been a study, or a small library, judging by the shelves lining every wall.

The man stood by the front window, but not in its light. He'd obviously watched their approach from the street—had seen Carlton was not alone—and yet he hadn't fled.

This was either good, because it meant he was legit, or bad, because it was some kind of trap. Carlton wished he'd told Juliet that _she_ shouldn't move even one foot from the door either.

"Who are you?"

He heard a chuckle preceding the answer: "I can't tell you that yet."

"Then why I should trust you or the information you claim you want to give me?" He peered into the shadows, but couldn't make out the man's features.

"I can't tell you yet who I am," the man repeated patiently. "What I _can_ tell you is how to bring Bates to justice, and to that end, you may be assured that my information is both verifiable and impeccable. And stop staring, Detective. You don't know me, and even if I came to stand right in front of you, it would mean nothing. I'm no one you've _ever_ encountered."

There was something about his voice… something smooth and cultured without being in the least bit… false. He could have been forty or seventy. He was at least six feet tall, wearing a suit jacket, but his shirt was dark and if he wore a tie, Carlton couldn't see it.

But somehow, he knew the man was wearing a tie. Possibly a handkerchief in his front pocket.

"Okay, so what's the information?"

"Bates keeps a journal. The details of his life with which he doesn't trust others are all in this journal. Many journals, in fact. Sometimes in code, but sometimes simply plain English, particularly when he's proud of a specific evil act—and he is _very_ proud of what he did to Lila and Carrie."

Dear God, Carlton wanted to believe this so badly. A _journal_… what it might hold, including the potential to get Bates for a myriad of other crimes.

But skepticism won out, as it usually did, because Carlton couldn't believe in this kind of miracle. "We've searched his house three times already. We have looked in _every_ _single_—"

The man cut him off. "You obviously haven't looked everywhere. Would you like to know the right place to look?" It wasn't _quite_ an insult.

"Yeah, dammit, I would," Carlton snapped. "But I need something I can get a judge to sign a warrant for. We're not getting back into that house without cause, not now. His lawyers practically have Bates in bubble-wrap."

The man sounded amused. "I wouldn't have brought you here if I didn't fully intend to help you catch him."

"Then what's our in? What's our probable cause for another warrant?"

"_Lila's_ diary," he answered simply. "You go back to _her_ apartment. It's on the bookshelf, wearing the book jacket for Stephen King's _The Shining_."

This was either Christmas or the biggest football Lucy had ever held out for Charlie Brown to kick at.

"And what's in the diary? The location of _his_ diaries? How would she know? The bastard was willing to murder her. I don't think he was likely to have trusted her with—"

Again, and calmly, the man interrupted. "Stop fighting. Her diary reveals that she found out about a secret room in his house. Once you have that information, a judge will indeed sign a fourth search warrant."

Carlton was exasperated with his seemingly casual dispensation of facts he couldn't possibly know. "Who _are_ you? How do you know she kept a diary, and where it is, and what's in it? If you're a friend of hers, why didn't you come forward weeks ago when she was killed?"

"Just investigate, Detective. When we meet again, you'll get more."

He stepped into the shadows of the corner of the room.

"No. I need more _now_."

"Your partner is anxious for you," he said mildly, and Carlton became aware of the smallest of sounds behind him.

It was something like white noise, soft in the background. He turned to put his hand on the knob, and looked back toward the man, but there was nothing in the shadows now. No shape. No presence.

No _way_. Oh _hell_ no, no way.

He was midway through one step in that direction when he heard, faint but clear, Juliet calling his name as if from a tremendous distance.

Instantly he turned back to the door and pulled it open, and Juliet—weapon drawn—grabbed at his arm and pulled him out into the anteroom.

She was wild-eyed, gasping. "Carlton! My God! What happened in there?"

He automatically steadied her and checked the room at the same time, then looked behind him into the shadowy study. He didn't have to go back in to know it was empty.

"Carlton!"

"Juliet, I'm fine. What happened out _here_?" He could see her near-panic was real, albeit receding, and she was still clutching his arm.

"Let's get outside," she commanded, and half-pulled him along, out into the main foyer and then through the front door onto the street, but she didn't stop there, moving him forcefully along.

"Aren't you like five foot three?" he grumbled, uncomfortable with being so easily herded by someone he towered over normally.

"Shut it. Get in the car."

It wasn't until she demanded the keys that he realized she was about to shove him into the _passenger_ seat, and then he stood his ground and backed her against the Vic. "What. Is. Wrong?"

She took a breath. "What happened in that room?"

"Nothing. I closed the door, he talked, he said you were worried about me, I opened the door, you freaked."

Juliet took a very deep breath. He could feel her slight trembling and relaxed his grip on her arms.

"Tell me."

She let out that same deep breath. "It sounds ridiculous."

"Last year, Cartavious Pumphrey sounded ridiculous, but we went through _that_ together. Tell me."

She blinked and finally braced herself; he let go of one arm but kept light hold of the other.

It came out in a rush. "I was listening and also looking around the room. There was light moving so I tried to see through the stained glass window in the door but I couldn't make anything out. The lights were… they were incredible, Carlton. Red and blue and purple and orange, through the glass and under the door. I could only hear this kind of rushing noise, not very loud. No voices. Just the lights and the rushing noise and then it got louder and brighter and I tried the knob and it wouldn't open, and I called to you and you didn't answer, and I couldn't hear anything and the door… the knob was freezing cold, and there was nothing passing in the street and it was like some kind of crazy disco ball thing going on in there and you weren't answering and I was about to shoot the lock and yeah, you know what, I was freaking out, because it was freaky, okay? It was _freaky_." She stared at him, a little out of breath. "And now you tell me nothing like that was happening in there? Nothing?"

He was floored. "Nothing, I swear."

"I heard words at the end. I heard a voice say 'anxious for you.'"

"That's… that's the last thing he said. He said 'your partner is anxious for you.'"

"Well he was right. I was."

Carlton pulled her into a quick hug. "Let's get home and think about this." On their own turf—exclusive of how well they worked at the police station—they could make sense of everything. There wasn't much they hadn't _always_ been able to make sense of together, even before they were… _together_.

In the car, she asked him again, and much more calmly, "So what did he tell you?"

"He said Lila kept a diary and wrote about a secret room in Bates' house. Said Bates keeps his own journals there and we'll find what we need to convict him."

"That's _fantastic_. Who is he?"

"Wouldn't say, but he told me where to find Lila's diary."

"How does he know about it?"

"Wouldn't say," he repeated grimly. "He really didn't want me getting anything on him."

She mused, "Then… then maybe that's why I got the show and you didn't."

He glanced at her, but as he returned his gaze to the road ahead, he realized what she meant. It made sense. "Of course. Keeping you distracted meant you couldn't pick up anything about him that I might miss while I was preoccupied with what he was _saying_. He must have rigged that anteroom somehow."

"Controlled sound, lights you weren't going to be able to see because you were looking at him—yes! That must be it!"

Her relief was palpable, and he relaxed himself.

"We'll go back during the day and check it out."

"No need," she said more confidently. "Anything he set up he's already removed. We won't find a thing."

"We might find the door he went out. There must have been one in the room, one I couldn't see."

"No need for that either. This guy went to a lot of trouble, Carlton. He got you alone while he distracted me with—with smoke and mirrors, really; he masked his phone number, and you know as well as I do that even if we have it traced it'll just be a burn phone. We won't get anything out of it."

"He's long gone." Carlton knew it was true. "He did say we'd meet again."

"He'll find a new place for that. Some place he's scouted out ahead of time and rigged. But this time," Juliet said grimly, "I won't be so easily fooled."

Which meant, Carlton understood, that it wouldn't be as lowbrow as lights and white noise. It might actually be more dangerous… for both of them.

"Let's just get to Lila's tomorrow and find that diary."

"First thing." She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek, taking hold of his right hand as he drove. "We'll put Bates behind bars yet."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

The morning was bright; their moods were bright; Chief Vick was happy with the informant's little gift—and if they omitted to tell her about their respective heebie-jeebies during the delivery, well, _oops_—and by half past eight they were on their way to Lila Crane's apartment.

Juliet was choosing to discount the creepy feeling 2613 Addams had given her last night. She was choosing to believe that it felt creepy because it was abandoned, and because as a cop she knew late-night meetings with unknown informants were always a crapshoot. Stepping into the darkened past had merely conjured up memories of their night in the Pumphrey mansion, and there was no more time to waste dwelling on it.

She and Carlton were in sync, they had key intel to work with, and Mr. Mysterious and his crazy little disco could go to hell.

The late Ms. Crane had been a pretty, well-liked salon worker with questionable taste in men, and Bates had paid her to become his personal hair stylist after hours. A friend of hers said the relationship was tumultuous but Lila had been hooked and chose to ignore the very public presence of his wife.

Juliet had trouble with that kind of decision, but she knew _all_ about loving the non-obvious choice, so she could cut Lila some slack. Glancing across at her tall lean man, she allowed the warmth of her feelings for him to seep through and soothe her. He was like good strong coffee: once she was fully addicted, every other man became just a packet of instant mixed in tepid water.

The search team took the time to look in all the books, not just _The Shining_, which as promised was merely a book jacket concealing a thick journal nearly filled with neat feminine handwriting.

Juliet stood with Carlton by the bedroom door, scanning the pages near the end.

"Her friend Carol Ann said they met on Valentine's Day." Carlton was flipping back to that point.

"There! '_His name is Jason Bates, almost like the actor, and he looks about that good too_.'" She curled her lip. "Yeah, if you like sleazy killers."

"It's Bateman, right? Isn't his sister an actress?"

"Yeah, Justine. Never liked her after _Family Ties_. Let's get this back to the station. We can take turns reading all about their torrid love affair."

"I don't want to read about that at all," he retorted. "I want to read about secret rooms in Bates' house." He bagged the prize and headed out, leaving Dobson to handle finishing the search for other journals hidden among the jacketed books.

Since as usual Carlton didn't want to relinquish the steering wheel, she got to thumb through the diary first, enjoying his irritation a little.

Lila's last entry was the morning of the day she was killed. '_J asked me to meet him tonight. He says we'll work it out, but this is the last time. He has to leave his wife or I'll end it for good_.'"

"Nothing about blackmail?"

She read further back. "No. Just that she loved him and wanted to be with him, even though it looks like they fought all the time. '_I don't know why he has this hold on me. I just know he's the one. I don't have anything against Carrie but she's just not right for him_.'"

"What about the secret room?"

"I'm looking." She scanned the pages more quickly, almost hoping for more red lights so she could keep the diary in her clutches longer.

"And what about the informant? Any insight into who he is?"

"Carlton, I've only had it for seven minutes." She could feel his impatience radiating from his side of the car. "Chill."

She found the reference at last, just as he was parking the car, and they sat there while she read to him. A few weeks prior to her death, Lila and her future murderer had been to dinner and then went back to his house, since Carrie was out of town.

He'd tried to entice her to make love in the master bedroom, but she refused to insult Carrie to that degree (so the infidelity was okay, Juliet reflected, as long as it wasn't directly on Carrie's turf?). Instead Lila asked for a tour of the large mansion, and in a moment of uncharacteristic lust-fueled weakness, he revealed that behind his study lay a _secret_ study, one Carrie didn't know about. One _nobody_ knew about.

Lila wrote, with a happy face, that he'd 'teasingly' said he'd have to kill her if he told her more, but she wasn't worried because she knew he really loved her and trusted her more than most anyone else. She knew this '_because he told me he doesn't lie to me, ever_.'

"Yeah," Carlton said. "Bates has a real reputation for his honesty."

"The point is, we have a starting place."

"Maybe. Knowing there's a secret room—correction, that he _said_ there was a secret room—doesn't mean a judge is going to sign a warrant to let us go breaking down walls."

"Well, maybe there's something else." She hopped out of the car and glanced at her watch. "You have to be in court in forty-five minutes."

"Dammit!"

Juliet hid her smile. He didn't mind court per se; he just didn't want to leave without a good look at the diary with his own eyes.

"I see you smirking, O'Hara."

Laughing openly, she handed him the re-bagged book. "It's all yours for at least half an hour, but if you're late for the trial I'm not backing you up."

Carlton scowled at her—without any heat—and got it out of the bag.

She was admiring his blue eyes (again) when her phone rang, but before she answered, she reminded him, "A judge will want that authenticated, you know."

He was way ahead of her: "I told Dobson to bring in other handwriting samples."

Juliet glanced at her phone screen, and went cold, and then felt stupid for going cold, because it was just a trick of technology: her own name and number were on display.

Instead of 'hello,' she said, "We found the diary, thanks. Anything else?" This got Carlton's immediate attention, and he stood close to listen.

The voice laughed, once again as melodious a sound as she'd ever heard. "Not at present, Detective."

"What's your connection to Lila Crane?"

"Private," he said without rancor. "When you need to know, I'll tell you, but it's truly not germane to your investigation."

Carlton was very still at her side.

"_Everything_ is germane to our investigation. It's how we make sure cases stand up in court."

"You've made cases stand up in court despite the involvement of a flagrant charlatan for years. I doubt my present reticence will be an issue."

She wasn't about to defend Shawn, because that wasn't the point. The D.A. had learned to work around him, and she and Carlton always made damned sure their casework was supported by the actual facts which underlay Shawn's public antics.

The man laughed lightly again, as if he was somehow reading her mind. "Please relay to Detective Lassiter that I'll be touch when the judge signs the warrant."

He was gone a moment later, and she pocketed her phone while meeting Carlton's blue, blue gaze.

"Guy's good," he said. "I don't like it, but he's good. You still think it's not worth tracing the call?"

"More than ever. But don't _you_ think I won't be looking at a list of Bates' known associates again to figure out who he is."

He grinned. "That's my girl."

She knew she was, and together they could kick _everyone's_ ass.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Chief Vick authorized a rush on the authentication of Lila's diary, and by the time Carlton returned from giving testimony, it was back in Juliet's capable hands and she was scribbling notes about her findings.

"This is gold, Carlton." She hurried to his desk and took the seat beside it, referring to the diary in one hand and her notes in the other. "There's nothing else about the secret room, but shortly after they became lovers she told him she kept this, and he told her he wrote in a journal too. Said he'd done it for years. She thought it was a sign he was thoughtful and romantic. I don't think she ever considered he was writing about con jobs and embezzlement and murder."

He honed in on a troubling aspect of this. "But if he knew about her diary, why didn't he take it out of her place? He had a key, and he wouldn't have left anything to chance."

"Because it was the one thing she _was_ smart about. She let him think she was keeping it online. She said having a diary had always been her one real secret and as much as she loved him, she knew he'd want to read it, so she told him it was password-protected through an online service."

"But wouldn't he still badger her about it?"

"He did!" Juliet was beaming. "He put a tracking device on her laptop!"

"Wait. We _have_ her laptop, and there was nothing—"

"For every smart thing she did, Carlton, there were ten dumb things, all fueled by stupid love. She found the software in a routine security update, knew he'd put it there, thought it was charming that he wanted to know about her, and forgave him!"

"Son of a banana eater," he breathed. "There's stupid and there's _stupid_."

"I know a woman whose boyfriend worked at her bank. He would call her every day and make little comments about what she spent her money on, because he was nosing around in her account. She married him anyway!"

"Deliberately?"

"Deliberately! They were divorced within three months. Anyway, from what I can tell, Lila managed to stall Bates until the end. He seemed to believe her diary was only online, and never suspected she was lying to him."

"Because who would _dare_," he mused. "Maybe now he thinks if it were findable at all, we'd already have it. Works for me. All right, so we know it's really her diary, we know he told her there's a secret room, and we know he told her there's journals. Let's go talk to Vick. I think this might actually do the trick for the judge."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

It nearly did.

They stood shoulder to shoulder with D.A. Ripley before the canny Judge Torrance, who listened to what they had to say, read the concise and eloquent document set before him by Ripley, and then leaned back in his chair.

"I'll have to think about this."

"Judge Torrance, this is an easy decision," Ripley said, perhaps unwisely. "You know Jason Bates killed this young woman and his wife. This is the first conclusive proof we have that—"

"It's not proof at all," Torrance interrupted. "It's questionably simply hearsay. I don't _know_ that Bates committed these murders, but I do know he's a liar, and a man who's cheating on his wife is damned likely to be lying to his mistress."

Ripley twitched. "Judge, what else can we bring to the table?"

"A roast beef sandwich with a side of fries would be nice, but instead I'll take the night. Come back tomorrow morning and I'll give you my decision." He shooed them out, and Carlton and Juliet left the frustrated Ripley to go back to the station and curse the wheels of justice for being careful and prudent and all the other things justice _should_ be… but which meant they were stonewalled for now.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

They didn't hear from their informant.

But just past three a.m., as he lay holding Juliet, her back to him as she slept peacefully, they both woke to the sound of his phone, unusually strident in the cool dark.

He didn't recognize the number, and managed a reasonably brisk greeting.

"Detective." The voice was a bit breathless, a bit heavy. "This is Judge Torrance."

"Judge? Are you all right?" He sat up, feeling Juliet next to him, alert now. If that bastard Bates got to him somehow…

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm fine. I just wanted to let you know I'll be signing that warrant in the morning. You can stop by as early as seven to pick it up."

Carlton hesitated only a moment. "I won't be later than that. May I ask what tipped the scales, sir?" He could be polite, even at three a.m., to anyone who was helping him arrest Jason Bates.

But Torrance hesitated longer, until a female voice behind him—most likely his wife Clarice—said something which sounded urgent and insistent.

"Sir?"

Torrance sighed. "Truthfully, Detective, it was a hell of a bad dream. And I know how to take a hint from my subconscious—if not my wife—so you'll get your warrant. Sorry to disturb you, but I knew you wouldn't want any more time wasted. Goodnight, Lassiter."

Carlton put down the phone and stared at Juliet. "Did you hear that?"

She stared back. "Yes."

"We got our warrant because of a bad dream?"

Juliet slowly smiled.

His phone rang again, but only once. Her smile was gone the instant he showed her the display.

_You're welcome._

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_A/N: I honestly doubt I can finish this before Halloween. I'm going out of town Thursday morning and will have almost no proper Internet access for the following five days. I do have most of the next chapter done and I WILL finish this, but no promises as to how fast!_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

On the way to Bates' home to execute the search warrant, Juliet finally broke. "How did the informant cause the bad dream?"

In profile, her partner seemed to be made of stone. He glanced at her, his own expression unreadable and his blue gaze giving nothing away. "We don't know that he did."

"Well, it's a hell of a coincidence, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I do. But Torrance himself said something about his subconscious, so it could just be that."

"He's a judge. He's made tougher decisions than this."

"Think about it, O'Hara. This was a public murder which put three people in the spotlight. A reasonably innocent wife, a young mistress who was guilty only of loving a killer, and a perpetual 'person of interest' who's eluded arrest for two decades. To sign off on to the warrant without thinking about all the ways it could backfire? Torrance is too careful for that."

"You weren't feeling so tolerant yesterday when he put us off."

"Yesterday I was crabby."

Juliet eyed him, and he had the sense to smile just a little. "So you don't think…"

"What? That our informant snuck into the judge's bedroom and whispered in his ear while Clarice lay right there beside him? Or do you think he might _be_ Clarice?"

She'd seen Clarice. It was possible. She snapped, "Why are you arguing with me? I'm asking what you think, Carlton. What you, my partner and my… my _partner_, think about this."

He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. "I think sometimes things work out the way we want."

Turning fully in her seat, she stared at him until he had to look her way. "You, Carlton Lassiter, never think things work out the way we want, and if I have to remind you of a certain kiss and a certain—"

"Enough! I get it. Let's just… let it percolate, okay? For all we know, Torrance has dreams like that all the time."

There was no point pursuing it anyway, because they'd arrived at Jason Bates' large Victorian-style mansion, and joined the cadre of other police vehicles lined up out front.

McNab met them at the door. "Sir, the property is clear of all civilians except for Bates and his two lawyers. We have them… um… corralled in the parlor."

"Good work, McNab. Everyone's set up in the study?"

McNab couldn't help but beam at the compliment. "Ready for you, sir."

Juliet always enjoyed Carlton striding into a scene to take command. Even when he was wrongheaded about something—which typically involved Shawn Spencer—he was always compelling. She kept up with him as they entered the study, where the shelves were lined not with books but with bits of art—boats, tigers, other generally outdoor-activity-related objects. Lila Crane thought of Bates as romantic because he kept a journal, but wasn't fazed at the absence of actual books?

Dobson came to greet them, cup of coffee in hand.

"How big is the space?" Carlton asked.

"Comparing floor plans to actual room measurements, at least six feet wide and ten feet long. There's no sign of an entrance and Bates isn't talking, so the team started testing and they say the walls are reinforced on both sides. They _can_ get through, but without knowing exactly what's in there, they could damage evidence."

Journals, Juliet thought. Paper would be very easily damaged, and this paper was precious like gold.

"What's on the other side?"

"The kitchen. Specifically, the sink and various plumbing lines."

More trouble for paper.

Carlton digested this. "Where's the parlor?"

They were led to an open room on the opposite side of the main hall, where they found an outwardly smug but perhaps just a _little_ bit nervous Jason Bates flanked by his two attorneys, both of whom were extremely annoyed.

"Detective Lassiter," Lawyer Number One started, "this is a complete outrage. Our client has not been charged with any crime, and to continually harass him during his time of mourning is beyond cold."

Ignoring this, Carlton fixed his icy blue gaze on Bates. "I'll ask you once. How do we get into the hidden room?"

Bates shrugged. "What hidden room? I don't know anything about a hidden room, and Stoker and Shelley plan to sue you personally for inventing one as an excuse to wreck my home once again."

"Ah. And who are Stoker and Shelley?"

The attorneys weren't amused. Juliet couldn't remember which was which and didn't care. She said, "You know we looked at the floor plans, and we know the space is there."

"Maybe it is. I don't know anything about it. I didn't build the house, lady. It's been in my family for eighty years. Do I look like Bob Vila?"

"No, you look like the brother of Justine Bateman, and I don't like her."

Bates frowned, his lawyers frowned, and Carlton smirked openly. "You think we're not already calling in your childhood buddies to tell us all about the secret room you showed them when you were kids?"

"Yeah? Tell 'em I said hi." Bates leaned back against the fireplace, radiating confidence.

It only meant he didn't show anyone, or didn't find out about the space until much later. Given the location of the room, it was unlikely he'd built it himself undetected.

Juliet's phone buzzed and she stepped back, but it only took a moment to read the words.

_Go upstairs._

She tapped Carlton on the arm, he sent a cool glare at the three people who were stymieing his need for justice, and they went into the hall. When she showed him the phone screen, he didn't even blink; he bounded up the grand staircase and she followed.

At the top, in the sunlit hallway graced with a large stained-glass window which colored the light around them, a door to the left closed suddenly.

She tensed, and Carlton asked, "Didn't McNab say the place was clear?"

"Yes, he did."

"That better not be one of _our_ guys skulking," he muttered, drawing his weapon. He pushed the door open and it swung wide.

Juliet could hardly take in the opulence of the bedroom before them. She was aware that every single thing in there was hugely expensive, from bedspread to footstool to curtains to knick-knacks, but neither awe nor disgust could take hold, because all she could really see was Carrie Bates standing in the middle of the deep blue carpet.

Carlton breathed out part of a curse.

They knew her image well enough; not just from crime scene photos but from her high-profile charity work. _Everyone_ in Santa Barbara knew what Carrie Bates looked like: tall, regal, long blonde hair, always the diamond necklace, always the long flowing dresses. Beautiful and ethereal in life, and seemingly more so in… Juliet swallowed… _death_.

She did not speak. Her solemn green gaze was steady as she simply pointed, silk rustling as her arm moved, and silver bracelets reflecting the light from the hall.

"The closet," Carlton said a bit weakly.

She didn't react. Her arm was as steady as her gaze.

"The closet," Juliet repeated. "It's directly over the hidden room. There must be a ladder or a staircase down."

But neither moved. They could only stare at the late Carrie Bates… until slowly, slowly, she faded from sight, leaving the room empty and cool and… empty.

He was first to thaw. "Get the team up here."

He didn't have to tell her _and not a word about this to anyone_.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

It wasn't, of course, as simple as finding the secret room, because here too, Jason Bates—who still claimed complete ignorance even as they were carting out the room's contents—had maintained his normal (abnormal) levels of secrecy.

The journals were identical in appearance. Small enough to fit in a man's jacket pocket, all dark blue. They filled each shelf in the cramped space, which also included a tiny desk with a lamp, a chair, a locked safe, and unexpectedly, a photo of Jason and Carrie on their wedding day.

The problem was there was absolutely no order to the hundreds and hundreds of plain unmarked journals. It was as if he'd bought in bulk specifically to fill the shelves, and then randomly chose which ones to write in. For every journal he'd used there was one unused, and no apparent sense to how they were shelved.

"He figured he could at least slow people down," Carlton commented.

"He was right." She looked as if she wanted to go after Bates and thwack him with one of the journals.

"Well, pack it all up and haul it to the station. We'll be reading for a few days." They were going to do this right.

He had a touch of grudging admiration for Bates' technique. The man was thoroughly determined to keep his secrets. But when he and Juliet headed out, he only gave the fuming man the briefest of glances.

_Your dead wife—the wife you betrayed and murdered—outed you_, he considered saying. _How's that for losing control of a situation?_

As they strode to the car, Juliet informed him they were taking an early lunch. He glanced at his watch and found it wasn't even 10:45. "We are?"

They were. She was tense but made it clear he was to call in that they'd be along in an hour—time enough for some quick handwriting authentication to take place in their absence—and that he should drive to the condo immediately.

He had a feeling this was about seeing Carrie, but what couldn't they talk about in the car?

Juliet said nothing else on the elevator ride up, nothing going down the hall, nothing as she locked the door behind him and took his wrist and pulled him into the bathroom.

And nothing as she began to take off her clothes.

He tamped down the immediate (and familiar) rush of desire for her. "Uh… not that I'm not always turned on by you, but—"

"Hush it," she interrupted. "Get undressed."

"Juliet, this might not be the time for—"

"I said get undressed!" She was already two-thirds nude, and reached in to turn the shower on. "Hurry!"

Well, the sight of her golden flesh was certainly an incentive, so Carlton shed his clothing in pretty good time, aware of her waiting impatiently for him on the other side of the curtain. Once he'd stepped into the warm spray of water, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her delightful wet and slippery body to his and whispered words in his ear he never expected her to say in this situation.

"I think he has us under surveillance."

He drew back to see her face. "_Who_?"

"Who do you think? Santa Claus? The _informant_!"

"What? Why?"

"Because of the timing of everything! It's like he's with us every step. He could only be doing what he's doing if he knows what we're doing when we're doing it!"

Carlton started to speak, but she put her hand to his mouth. He peeled it away with effort but she was still talking.

"That message today. It came right after Bates denied knowing about the room. The team would have gone up there eventually to see if there was any access, but he wanted us up there right _then_, so he could show us, and _only_ us, his little trick."

"You think…" He couldn't say her name. "You think what we saw was a trick?"

"It had to be!"

"But this morning when I said it was probably a coincidence about Torrance having a bad dream, you—"

"That was this _morning_."

"Yeah, and I was only crabby _yesterday_," he muttered.

Juliet frowned, shifting against him in agitation, and he grasped her hips to stop her movements, because in her agitation she was agitating him in ways which were very… _very_ agitating.

"Juliet. Are we naked in the shower because you think he's listening to us?"

"Of course! He could have planted something in our clothes or phones. I don't want to take any chances, Carlton. He's been right there from the start. Even if he's not listening, I think he's watching. He could have been outside the courthouse yesterday when you and Ripley and I stormed out all pissed off. He'd have known we didn't get the warrant."

"But he couldn't have known Torrance only asked to think about it. Even if he did somehow plant a suggestion or, hell, I don't know _what_ he could have done to cause a bad dream, there was no guarantee it would work. For all he knew, Torrance passed us off to another judge."

She shook her head adamantly, tendrils of damp hair curling against her neck. "One way or the other he _knows_ what's going on."

"But… but he's helping us," he said plaintively, and damn, naked wet Juliet was distracting.

"If you thought Shawn was behind this, you'd be all over my theory."

"But what am I supposed to _do_ about your theory?"

"Share it with me," she retorted. "And pay attention to exactly what goes on in the moments before he contacts us. We can catch this guy."

"Do we need to?" He stilled her movements yet again, because she was _killing_ him. "What makes you so sure that was fake this morning? After last year with Cartavious?"

"Because the whole time we were in his house, we were creeped out. I didn't feel anything like that with her. Did you? Were you cold? Did you have goosebumps? Did you have any sense of evil?"

"No, but unlike Cartavious and that damned house, _she_ _wasn't_ evil! She was only trying to get a message through."

"So you think it was real? You think that was a ghost we saw?"

"Damn near anything is possible." Except for them getting back to the station on time, not if he was able to do what he badly wanted to do right now.

"Even though he knew we were going to be in the house, he knew he could lure us up there apart from the others, and he knew we'd have to follow the lead and wouldn't have time to figure out how he pulled it off, giving him time to remove the evidence?"

Carlton briefly seized control of his raging libido. "Juliet, this is not an argument we need to have. The guy's whole purpose is help us put Bates in jail. We can figure out who he is and how he's done all of this later."

Juliet sighed, resting her head on his shoulder.

After a bit, she finally said, "You're right." It was muffled against his skin, and the vibration was tantalizing. "But let's be careful what we say, okay?"

"Deal. Just… one more thing."

Her inquisitive expression changed when he grasped her thigh and lifted it to hook around his hip. "Ohhh…"

"Yeah, ohhhh." He kissed her hard, and she gave it back. "When a naked woman lures a naked man into a shower, there's going to be an incident."

"I take full responsibility for my actions." She nibbled at his throat, sliding her hands down his arms, pressing to him.

"You'd better," he growled. "Because since I'm not getting lunch, I'm having _you_."

She gasped as his own hands went wandering. "I'll make you a sandwich later."

_Much_ later, he thought, and then stopped thinking with his _conscious_ mind at all.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Seven o'clock. The day shift was gone and the second shift was settling in. October's shorter hours of daylight meant the conference room lights were already on.

Juliet opened the seven hundredth Bates journal and abruptly tossed it across the room.

Carlton's head jerked up. "Evidence shouldn't be used as a weapon." He could see from where it had fallen open that it was one of the blanks.

"It wasn't loaded," she groused. "And I didn't throw it at _you_."

He closed the one he was 'reading.' "We should quit for the night."

"I hate this man. Have I told you that? I hate Jason Bates."

"You told me at three o'clock. And four o'clock."

"I could tell you again."

"You did. At four thirty, six and six-fifteen."

Juliet rubbed her temples. "He's just so smug. Even the blank journals piss me off."

He pointedly glanced in the direction of the one she'd tossed. "Really?"

"Carlton, take me seriously when I'm whiny."

"We've spent a lot longer than seven hours poring over evidence before. Are you going soft on me, O'Hara?"

Instantly a dark blue glare was aimed at him, and he remembered her in the shower and had to smile because he loved her no matter what kind of mood she was in.

"You know I'm not. It's just between his stupid little code and his smug little remarks when he does use English, his list of… of… atrocities is really yanking my chain!"

To make it worse, they hadn't yet found the journal—coded or otherwise—which referred to the murders of his wife and lover.

D.A. Ripley was already happy with their preliminary reports about all the other stuff they could finally get Bates on, but the murders of Lila and Carrie were top priority. Everyone "knowing" he killed them wasn't enough to guarantee even a trial, let alone a guilty verdict.

"Call him," Juliet said in the middle of his musing.

"Who?"

"Santa Claus," she said with extreme emphasis.

"_How_?"

She looked at him, eyebrows raised. "You carry this thing called a… wait… let me think of the name for it… oh yes: cell phone. Ring a bell?"

"And what number do I call, Ms. Smartass? My own?"

Now she floundered. "Well… just return the call you got. It's worth a try, right?"

"Sure. _You_ do it. With your own—now what do I call it?—oh yeah, cell phone!"

They scowled at each other.

"Fine." She grabbed up her phone and scrolled through the recent calls, and he watched as she pushed the button to call… herself? Phone to her ear, she had the audacity to stick her tongue out at him, and Carlton couldn't decide whether to threaten to spank her or… take her.

After a few moments, she disconnected with a fresh new scowl.

"Didn't work?"

"No, I changed my mind. Decided I didn't feel like talking."

He couldn't help it; he laughed.

She was startled, but eventually she was smiling at him instead of looking as if he'd make a good target. "Okay. Maybe we should quit for tonight, like you said."

Carlton agreed quickly, and they packed up the current batch of journals, deciding to go get some dinner and some fresh air and be around people—at a considerable distance—who weren't as annoyance-inspiring as Jason Bates.

There was a beachside place which wasn't busy on this Wednesday night, and they sat on the deck and had good fresh seafood and wine, then started home under the mid-evening stars with the windows of his Fusion down to let in the late October breeze as they drove.

He was relaxed, his lovely Juliet was in a far better mood, he still had delightfully salacious memories of their lunchtime tryst (she had indeed made him a sandwich after), and tomorrow they would find the bastard's notes about murdering the women who loved him and send his skanky ass to jail.

His cell rang, he pretended not to know what it was—cell phone? what's _that_?—they laughed at each other, and he said hello.

"Come see me," the man said pleasantly. "We'll talk."

"When and where?" As always, he felt Juliet's instant awareness.

"Right now. You know where."

He was surprised. "Addams?"

"It's familiar ground," he said, and Carlton could almost hear the shrug that went with it. "I'll be waiting."

There was silence, and Carlton put the phone away. "We're going back to Addams Street."

Juliet was surprised too.

It meant her very logical theory—that he wouldn't use the same meeting place twice—was wrong, except not really. No matter what tricks the man had set up this time, Juliet wouldn't fall for them.

But Carlton doubted the guy had used up _everything_ in his arsenal.

It didn't take long to get there, and once again it was about quarter after nine. The other shops were closed and the street largely empty.

They stood by the car looking up at the old building.

He felt a chill in the air around them, and felt Juliet's shiver.

About to take that first step forward, he stopped when a light came on in a third floor window. They were both still, silent as a shadow moved in the pale glow.

"I thought this building was abandoned," she whispered.

"He said it was."

"Why is there a light in the window?"

He regained rationality. "Could be a candle. A lantern." It was too steady to be a moving flashlight.

"Maybe." She seemed unconvinced. "It's bright."

It was indeed, and seemed to grow brighter as they watched.

The shadow—a silhouette—moved closer to the window and stopped dead center.

Almost, Carlton thought, as if it could see _them_, despite the closed curtains.

Restless, Juliet started toward the building. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

He was a few steps behind her... so he was the one who saw the light go out abruptly.

It was better, wasn't it, that he was also the only one to feel sudden sharp unease.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

(_A/N: Thanks MUCHO for the comments; I'll respond to you all later. Right now I'm in a Biloxi hotel room with sluggish Internet using my tiny-brained mini laptop, but I'll have near-to-nuttin' for a few days after I leave here shortly. **Happy Halloween!**_)


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**. . . .  
><strong>**. . .**

_[A/N: back from my break, and wondering why I thought I could get caught up fast? Silly me. But here's the next chapter, and there's at least one more coming.]_

**. . . .  
><strong>**. . .**

They found him in the same study Carlton had met him before. Juliet walked in first, determined not to be relegated to the "fool me twice" anteroom.

He stood by the window, but not in the light—as he had with Carlton—and if he was looking directly at them, she couldn't be sure.

"Can we have some lights, please?"

"No," was the pleasant answer. "There is no electricity in this building."

"I have a flashlight," she countered, showing it.

"If you turn it on, this conversation will end instantly."

She savored the mild irritation in his tone.

Carlton asked, "Who's upstairs?"

The man's shadowy head turned in his direction. "No one."

"Why bother lying?"

The response came without censure. "I have no need to lie. There is no one upstairs."

"You sure?" Carlton persisted. "There's got to be lots of hidey-holes here."

Juliet didn't wait for the man's answer. "Lila wrote in her diary that Jason said nobody knew about the secret room in his house, not even Carrie. But she knew today."

The man looked directly at her; she could _feel_ it. She wished she had the utter nerve to illuminate him with her flashlight but she knew better: this was _his_ game, and he still held all the cards.

"I could say," he said calmly, "that certain avenues of information open up to people after death, but that would assign a level of drama and mystique here that we don't really need, wouldn't you agree?"

A flurry of goosebumps rippled her skin, and beside her, Carlton radiated tension.

Their informant continued, still very calmly, "Instead consider this: the access to the room was through the master bedroom closet, and Carrie lived in that house with Jason for over ten years. That he _thought_ he had her fooled didn't mean he was right."

"So she told you she knew?"

"No, Detective Lassiter. I'm merely speculating."

"I don't understand why you're doing things this way," Juliet said impatiently. "Why won't you tell us who you are and how you know what you know? When you told us to go upstairs in his house, did you know she was there waiting? And if you knew, how? If that was really Carrie, then what are you?"

He chuckled. "Are you asking if I'm a ghost?"

Was she? Was that crazy?

_You know Cartavious was real. That_ felt_ crazy, but it wasn't._

_This guy could simply be a medium. A clairvoyant. A ghost whisperer. All the things Shawn Spencer isn't and that you're still not entirely sure you believe in._

"Detective O'Hara?" he persisted. "Are you asking me if I'm coming to you from beyond the grave?"

She was mute.

Carlton intervened. "She's asking how you know what you know."

"And I must ask why it matters. If what I tell you is demonstrably true, what difference does it make how I know, or even who I am? Haven't police investigations—even yours—benefited from anonymous informants many times in the past?"

He was right about that. Why did this one feel different?

_Tell him you _do_ want to know if he's a ghost_.

Instead she asked, "Why did you call us here tonight?"

"Because the Bates' reign of terror must stop. History _must stop_ repeating itself." His shadowy form shifted almost impatiently. "Jason Bates is still a free man, Detective."

It sounded accusing.

She could feel Carlton bristling before he retorted, "We haven't found the right journal yet. I'm starting to think there _is_ no record of him murdering Lila and Carrie."

"The record is there. There can be no escape for him this time."

His tone was implacable, and made Juliet shiver a little.

"We want him as much as you do," Carlton said flatly. "You've gotten us this far. If you have more, let's hear it."

From the darkness near the window, Juliet heard a sigh. The man had gone from cold to weary, and this made him, finally, seem very human and real.

"The encryption key is in his study."

"We've searched his study. You know that."

"It's inside the blue model yacht. I'm _quite_ sure you didn't look there."

"We will now," she assured him. "Anything else? Like who you are?"

"You don't need that, but when the time is right, you'll get the information you want. Focus on making the case. That's the most important matter here."

Well, damn him for sticking to the point. Juliet peered even harder into his shadowy place near the window, determined to see even one detail of his features.

And he laughed, as if _she_ were the one under scrutiny.

Carlton grasped her arm. "Come on. We're done."

She could feel the tension in his grip, but now she was annoyed, and shook free. "Look, you're right, okay? Catching Bates _is_ the most important thing. But I don't like to be played with, and that's what it seems like you're doing with us—using us as pawns so you can play your game."

"I have no _game_, Detective. I just have my own way."

"Your way is starting to get on my nerves." And that was it: she started across the room, ready to turn the light directly on his face.

"Juliet," Carlton warned, but that was the only word he got out.

Outside in the street there was a screech and a crash and a scream, all in quick succession, and training kicked in: she turned with her partner and ran out into the dark foyer and main hall and through the door, and in the moment it registered that there was nothing in the street at all—just their car and a lone Fiat half a block down—the door behind them slammed and they could both plainly hear the lock turn.

"Son of a Democrat," Carlton snapped. "Of all the lame-ass schoolboy tricks."

Juliet glared at the door. "We could shoot our way back in."

"Forget it." He strode toward their car. "He's finished with us tonight, and I'm for damned sure finished with him. "Let's see about getting that blue yacht ASAP."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

_History must stop repeating itself. _

Carlton heard the words in his head, firm and impassioned, and wondered if he could get out of bed and access SBPD files without waking Juliet.

_The Bates' reign of terror must stop._

Not _Jason's_ reign. Not _his_ reign. _The Bates'_ reign.

He knew the Bates family history was shady, but Jason was the one on his turf and in his timeline, so he wasn't up to speed on any other familial dirty deeds (whether done dirt cheap or not).

_History must stop repeating itself._

This man, their informant, knew things no one else could know, but his simple statement made it seem that this was about more than avenging Carrie and Lila. About more than just Jason Bates.

Beside him, Juliet breathed deeply. He envied her the simplicity of sleep after a long day.

_History must stop repeating itself._

Was it a clue? To look beyond—or before—Jason Bates, perhaps to find out who the informant was?

Or was it just the remark of someone who was tired of Bates and wanted him off the streets?

And who _had_ been lurking upstairs in the abandoned building?

_History must stop repeating itself._

He yawned, still puzzling over the various permutations.

_History must stop repeating _

_History must stop_

_History must_

_History_

_His story_

He fell asleep.

Time passed. Or perhaps no time passed at all.

He woke up.

The room was cool and he could no longer feel Juliet close by. He felt vague and numb.

Someone was sitting in the padded chair by the window, and he knew it wasn't Juliet.

She stood up slowly and faced him.

He knew her, and it wasn't Juliet.

From the corner, another shadow moved.

She faced him too.

She also wasn't Juliet.

Carlton drew in an icy breath. He wasn't afraid, but he was paralyzed.

"This is for us," Carrie said.

"This is for truth," Lila said.

_This is for justice_, he heard, and it was a little like his own voice.

Where was Juliet?

He watched the two women, who watched him in turn.

Carrie Bates was as ethereally beautiful as before, all silk amid glints of jewelry.

Lila Crane, whom he'd never seen before she turned up dead, was lovely in her own right, young and fresh. He imagined her smile was bright.

_Who is he? _he asked in his head, since he couldn't speak.

"He is our justice."

He couldn't tell which woman spoke.

"He will stop history from repeating itself."

_Who is he?_

"Help him help us."

"Help him help the others who went before."

_I want to_. _I'm trying. We're trying_.

He looked from woman to woman, from shadow to shadow, and no answers came. No more words.

Carrie was close enough to touch, and he reached out slowly.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lila was close enough to touch, and she reached out slowly.

But it was too far… and Lila was too amorphous… and Juliet tumbled to the floor, tangled in sheets and sudden wakefulness.

The bedside lamp came on, flooding the room with light, and Carlton pulled her to her feet, catching her up against his chest tightly.

He didn't say anything and it took a moment to register that she could feel his heart pounding under her cheek.

"You okay?"

The surprise on his lean face almost made her smile. "Yeah," he said. "You?"

Juliet looked around the room. Theirs, familiar, warm, and empty of… apparitions?

"I am now. I had a dream."

He hesitated. "So did I."

They got back into bed, lying close together—with the light still on—and compared notes about their dreams. Juliet held nothing back—even if she'd wanted to, there was rarely any point in concealing anything from her quietly perceptive man—and wasn't even surprised that their dreams were the same.

"He sent them. Messengers?"

"Wonder what Judge Torrance got," Carlton mused.

"Something to scare him into signing the warrant. This felt more like reassurance to me. Like asking us to hang in there."

"I wasn't planning to stop doing my job," he muttered. "We both have a vested interest in wrapping this up."

They would be re-entering the Bates house in the morning to collect the yacht, and Juliet wished it were closer to dawn so they _could_ wrap this up.

"Maybe they just wanted us to be certain we could trust this guy."

"Or maybe we're both looney tunes."

"That was true before this case, honey."

Carlton smiled at her, and Juliet stroked his warm chest. "Point."

"But you're right. We didn't need reassurances. Just answers. We're cops about the whole story, not just parts of it."

He nodded, and then murmured, "History must stop repeating itself."

"It will." To the room and its previous visitors she said loudly, "It _will_."

As soon as they got that model yacht.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

"Go over the theory of the case one more time," the Chief said over her second cup of coffee.

She had already quizzed them about how they knew where to look for the encryption key, and accepted with only one arched brow their mutterings about hunches and intuition and other cop-related clichés.

They were waiting for handwriting authentication on the notebook pages which had been stuffed inside the blue yacht's tiny cabin, and Carlton was glad for the chance to tamp down his impatience at the delay.

"He lured them both to the motel room. We figure he told Lila he'd broken it off with Carrie, but how he got Carrie to a low-rent motel we don't know yet."

"Toxicology showed no trace of a sedative in Carrie's system, but it's still remotely possible he drugged her and brought her in first," Juliet added.

"If either woman _did _actually shoot the other, my money's on Carrie drawing on Lila."

Karen took a swig of coffee. "Because?"

Carlton shrugged. "She was trained. She owned a Derringer although friends say she never carried it. Lila was against guns."

Juliet nodded her agreement. "We're not sure yet how he did it, and T.O.D. is too close to call, but he managed to get Lila's prints on a gun, and gunshot residue on her hand, and a bullet from that gun in Carrie's chest. Same for Carrie: prints, GSR, bullet to Lila's head."

"Sounds… vague," Karen observed without emphasis.

"Exactly. Without his explanation—or even admission—that he did it, he'll walk out of the courtroom with a big-ass 'not guilty' verdict." Carlton paced the office. Didn't help.

"Have you identified which journal holds the admission?"

"No, but this encryption key should help."

He hoped Juliet was right. He shouldn't doubt their informant; he hadn't led them astray yet. But he'd been a cop too long to assume everything would go right.

So when the encryption key was verified as being in Bates' handwriting, and they returned to the conference room to go through the last batch of journals, and the first one he opened turned out to be the one detailing the murders, he thought he might have slipped into La-La Land.

Juliet took the journal from his grasp and double-checked his findings. She stared at him, eyebrows high and lovely eyes wide as she grinned. "This is it!"

"It is? Really?"

"Really!" She moved her chair closer to his and together they matched the encryption to Bates' scrawled mix of codes and English.

It was all there. The bastard bragged about how he did it, and it was all freaking there.

Carlton called the D.A. while Juliet brought Karen Vick in, and they read from their notes what they'd gleaned so far.

First, Bates scouted out various no-tell motels to find one with a room he could break into with relative ease and certainty of not being discovered. The motel he chose conveniently had a few rooms under renovation—and thus deserted at night—at one end of the property.

He called Carrie (from a phone he later disposed of) to come collect him from the motel because he was too drunk to drive home after an afternoon bender at the bar next door. When she arrived, he got her to stand on the far side of the bed, and shot her with a gun he'd acquired illegally years ago. Just like that, point-blank, in the chest. She crumpled to the floor, and he left her there, since she couldn't be seen from the door.

Then he called Lila (from a different disposable phone) to say he and Carrie had split, and asked if she'd come meet him. When she got there, he swiftly shot her with Carrie's gun.

He fired two more shots: one from Carrie's gun held in her hand; one from "Lila's" gun, held in her hand. That accounted for the gunshot residue, and to add to the charming authenticity of it all, he even pulled each dead woman to an upright position before firing in order to make sure there was GSR in appropriate places on their clothing.

Then he skulked off into the darkness, got rid of the clothes he'd been wearing, showered several times to remove GSR from his own skin, and waited for the bodies to be discovered.

Certain no one would find Lila's (supposed) online diary detailing their affair since _he_ couldn't find it, and certain Carrie—who'd put up with him for a decade—had left no secret record of her life with him, he simply had to ride out the media drama.

What had gotten the full attention of the SBPD was the coincidence of both women receiving phone calls from burn phones in the half hour before their deaths, the lack of any evidence that Carrie knew about Lila, let alone how to reach her, the lack of any evidence that Lila would even think of owning a gun, and of course the fact that Jason Bates himself was even remotely connected to the matter, because everyone (but Lila) knew he was no damned good.

Karen smiled when they finished their telling. D.A. Ripley was positively beaming, and Carlton was ready to go find the their informant and shake his shadowy hand.

Jason Bates and his lawyers, not so happy.

Juliet, puzzled.

Over their celebratory lunch he asked her why she was frowning.

"Because now that we have it all, I want to understand more than ever how the informant knew any of it. I need to know, Carlton. I _need_ to know."

So did he, but they had to put the final touches on this investigation for the D.A. before they could spend any serious time on a _personal_ investigation into the identity of their little helper.

Juliet didn't want to hear that, of course, but the scowl which darkened her blue eyes wasn't really directed at him, and he soothed her with a chocolate-drenched dessert.

Still, when he got the text on their way out, he decided not to rile her up again with the simple message on his screen.

_Soon._

_And thank you._

**. . . .**

**. . .**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Late Friday afternoon, with most of the Ts and Is crossed and dotted, Carlton and Juliet contemplated a much-deserved early departure from the station.

The Chief agreed, but as Carlton started to shut down his laptop he paused.

He couldn't help it: he wanted to stay, in this little lull between a very full week and the start of a probably equally full new one, to research the Bates family.

Glancing over at Juliet, he found her glancing back at him.

"Could we…" she began, and then faltered.

He smiled. "Race you to the Records Room."

They arrived at the door in a rush, startling Officer Barnabas who was just about to lock up, and settled in with the files and boxes and microfilm and cabinets—and computer—to do their digging.

First the family history: Jason Bates was the son of the late Lex Bates, the grandson of Damien Bates, and the great-grandson of Freddy Bates, who had been dropped at a local orphanage a few weeks after his birth in 1882 and named by the Mother Superior.

Lex Bates, dead nearly twenty years now, had set a very good example for his son about ways to skirt the law. Arrested a dozen times but never incarcerated more than a few months for any offense, he'd made a fortune by questionable means and yet somehow maintained a relatively secure place in Santa Barbara high society. Several wealthy wives added to his financial resources along the way.

Damien Bates—neither Carlton nor Juliet bothered to mock the name—was born in 1910, and from their reading, had led a less elite life than his son. Much rougher, he used the family money more for fun than for the future. He also liked women far too much, judging by the number of times he'd been arrested for trying to force himself on them.

Freddy Bates, the orphan, started this dynasty of debauchery—no doubt to the Mother Superior's horror. He ran a tavern, among other enterprises, and out of that tavern operated a brothel. Notes in the police files suggested he was thought to have blackmailed more than one customer to build his personal nest egg.

"So now what?" Carlton asked. "They were all crooks."

"History must stop repeating itself," Juliet reminded him.

"But what history? The ways they broke the law are all different."

"That's enough history to stop repeating for _me_." She tapped the table. "I remember reading some comments in Jason's journals about his father and grandfather. Be right back."

While she went up to collect their notes, he looked again at the list of arrests. The most puzzling one—since it had not resulted in a jail sentence—was the death of one Dana Starling back in 1928 at the hands of Freddy Bates.

She was employed at his tavern as a waitress, not one of the brothel girls, and he attacked her in the alley outside the tavern late one night. The attack was interrupted by a passerby, and Freddy turned his knife on him as well.

Comparing the police files to the somewhat lurid newspaper reports of the time, he learned that the passerby's injuries were such that he could not testify at the trial (which the newspapers speculated was rushed thanks to 'donations' to certain court officials), and Freddy's attorney was able to spin the case so that Dana was portrayed as demanding a sizable raise, the knife was hers, and poor six-foot-two Freddy was completely at the slim young woman's mercy until he bravely took control to save his own life. Freddy went free, and Dana went without justice.

Juliet hurried back in with photocopies of some of Jason's journals. "I remembered him writing that what he learned from his father and grandfather was that you can't trust anyone. He says in one entry that they knew they'd been ratted out more than once, as it was the only way to explain some of the times they got arrested."

"Like what?"

"Well," she started, spreading some of the pages out for him to see, "like this incident from Damien's life. Jason wrote that Damien admitted to his family before he died in 1972 that twice when he was actually about to kill someone, there were interruptions which prevented it."

"Interruptions? Like… what, someone walked in?"

"Sort of. One time, when Damien was sure he was in a completely deserted area, a guy he'd never seen before came out of nowhere and flat-out pulled him off his intended victim."

Carlton's senses prickled. "Hang on." He went back to the newspaper article about Dana Starling's death, and re-read the parts about the passerby. It didn't mean anything, really, since that took place decades earlier, but once he told Juliet about the coincidence, she got a funny light in her eyes.

Together they went back through all the arrests and near-arrests of all the Bates men, comparing them to newspaper articles, and found a clear pattern. For Freddy, after murdering Dana, and then for his son Damien and Damien's son Lex, it seemed that there was an odd preponderance of mysterious strangers who appeared at the last moment to save their victims, who were usually women. Articles quoted several survivors as saying wonderingly that they didn't know—or even see—who had burst in to save them, but they thanked God for the help He'd sent.

"Ooookay," Carlton managed. "So we're talking about eighty years of guardian angels?"

"Maybe just one angel," she countered, not _quite_ looking at him.

He decided to avoid that for now. "But the Bates men weren't thinking about angels. They just thought they had a problem with squealers."

"Right, so that's why Jason never confided in anyone about anything he did."

"Until he slipped up and told Lila about the secret room."

"Yeah." Juliet sat back in the chair. "I know this can't be right."

"What?"

"The idea of a guardian angel. Jason killed Lila and Carrie and no angel came to save them." She was sad, and Carlton reached over to rub her arm. "But still it doesn't seem like chance, does it?"

"No, and none of this answers the question of who our informant is."

She looked at him, speculative. "Who tried to save Dana Starling? Because that's when this started."

He rifled through the files again, and came up with the man's name and death notice. "Clive Collins. He died in 1929, about a year after the murder. Owned a bookkeeping firm. No wife, no kids."

"How old was he?"

"Just shy of fifty."

"When he died. Forty-eight in 1928."

Carlton eyed her. "You're musing."

"I am. I'm musing that your informant talks like someone of that age. He's no kid, but he's no old man either."

Everything was prickling now. "Juliet," he said, keeping his voice low, because the door was open… _and_ _you just never know_… "are you saying you think the informant is Clive Collins?"

She sighed, rubbing her temples. "I don't know. If I am, I'm also saying he stepped in to save all those other people over the years, but couldn't save Lila and Carrie, and _that's_ the part which makes the least sense of all the craziness."

_Maybe it was too big a task for one angel to handle. Too big an evil._

He made a decision. "Let's go ask him." Standing up, he started to put the files back in order.

Juliet stood too, but she was less certain. "Ask him? Like… what do you mean?"

"I mean we go over there and ask him." He said it firmly but felt decidedly otherwise.

"To…the building on Addams Street? Carlton, it's two a.m."

"Oh, you think he might be asleep?"

She scowled at his sarcasm. "No, but…"

"But maybe you don't want to know as much as you thought you did?"

That did the trick. She straightened up, glaring at him. "Stack the folders, Lassiter. We have a date in an abandoned building."

**. . . .**

**. . .**

If the street had seemed deserted on their previous visits, it seemed positively sepulchral now.

If they'd been in the Old West, a tumbleweed would have gone skittering past them into the night, and a wolf would have howled in the distance.

Juliet shivered, and Carlton squeezed her hand.

_We're armed, so we can take down _human_ threats_, she reminded herself. _And we're good guys, so the informant isn't going to screw with us either_.

_Much._

_Probably_.

She hoped.

The street lights even seemed dimmer. All the buildings in the area were dark. The late October cold had set in and chilled everything well beyond its obligation to do so. It was unreasonably quiet.

The door was unlocked.

"He knows we're coming," Carlton murmured.

_He knows what we want._

The man waited for them in the shadows of the former office. His profile was clearer now, and he nodded in their direction.

There was nothing to do but jump right in. "Are you Clive Collins?"

"Yes, Detective O'Hara. Or I was."

She felt immeasurably better for not being crazy, even though she was clearly crazy.

Carlton stood closer. "Tell us about Dana."

Clive moved into the light for the first time, dim though it was, and they could both see his lined face, but it was still… misty?

_Because he's not really here. Not like we are._

"She was a hard-working, sweet young woman. She should not have been in Freddy Bates' employ, but she did her best and until that night he left her alone."

"You knew her? Before then?"

He nodded. "His tavern was next door. This was my building."

His bookkeeping firm, she remembered. The tavern was an antique shop now.

"You were friendly?" Carlton's tone was neutral.

Clive didn't like it. "You may not be familiar with the term, Detective Lassiter, but I was a gentleman, and despite her unsavory employer, Dana Starling was a lady."

"He's a gentleman too," Juliet said. "He just wants to know how a bookkeeper and a waitress who kept different hours formed any kind of connection."

"I sometimes took my evening meal there, when I knew the odious Bates wasn't in. She sometimes came in to visit one of my office girls. We talked about books and poetry."

He cared for her. Juliet wouldn't say so out loud.

"What happened that night?"

Clive hesitated. "I failed to save her."

"That's not what I asked. What happened?"

"I heard the attack, outside my window. It was late and I should have been home hours ago but there was work to be done. I went out to intervene and almost had her free of him when he stabbed me as well."

Dana Starling died that night. Others who heard the commotion had come to their aid, but it was too late for Dana.

"Yet I lived," he went on, as if he'd heard her thought. "I was severely injured and Bates' men were able to rush the trial through before I could testify." There was a low anger in his voice now. "I failed to save her. I failed to do her any justice at all."

He turned away from the window light, casting himself back into the shadows.

"You tried." Carlton was sincere, although she knew he'd have felt the same self-recriminations.

"I _failed_." Flat.

"You _tried_," she repeated. "And it looks like you were successful many times after that. After you…"

Died.

_The Bates' reign of terror must stop._

"Damn good work too," Carlton said gruffly. "How did you… how can you… "

Clive saved him from trying to find the right words. "I pleaded, when my time came, for a chance to make things right. I'm no angel, if you were wondering. I have merely been permitted to… watch over the Bates men, if you will."

"But you couldn't neutralize them completely."

"Regrettably, no. I could only step in as needed to stop their most heinous deeds."

He sounded dissatisfied. Juliet asked, "But that's still good, isn't it?"

"Not good enough. It didn't stop _all_ their heinous deeds, and they never strayed from their destructive paths. All I really accomplished was to teach Jason Bates to become so secretive that the only way I could bring justice to Lila and Carrie was… was to re-plead my case."

She rather thought saving lives along the way was a significant accomplishment.

Carlton asked, "What do you mean, re-plead your case?"

He sighed. "This is the last time I can intervene. I asked if I could involve myself more directly in this matter, to stop the Bates clan once and for all. Whether it worked or not, I must now go… home," he finished simply. "That's why it has been so important for you to act on the information I gave you. That's why it had to be done right."

"History must stop repeating itself," she murmured.

"Exactly. Now it will. Jason has no heirs, and God willing, he will spend the rest of his miserable existence in prison."

She had one more question, and knew Carlton had it too. Which one would ask first?

Clive took care of the problem, stepping closer to them and speaking more quietly. "I could not save Lila and Carrie because I am _not_ an angel. I am only a human man who met his maker over eighty years ago and received very special permission to remain on this earthly plane specifically to make amends for my failure."

"I don't believe anyone anywhere thought you were a failure for trying to save Dana." Carlton's tone was harsh, and Juliet shared his feeling on this. "Most people wouldn't have left the comfort of their offices at all, not to go up against a man with a knife."

The silence was deep, and Clive Collins let out a steady breath, a breath she could almost feel.

"Until I could let go of my guilt, I was not able to let go of my past or my life here. You're right, Detective. I _am_ my own worst accuser."

She wanted to touch his arm and tell him it was all right now. That it had been all right then. He'd _tried_. But she remained still, as did Carlton, and the three of them held this silent tableau for a moment.

"Then it's past time to stop." She smiled, hoping he could see it. "You've done more than anyone else to save innocent people. Jason Bates _will_ spend his life in prison, and Lila and Carrie already think you're a hero—and they didn't even know you."

"Thank you for what you did," Carlton said evenly. "All of it." He started to turn toward the door, but paused. "Who was upstairs the other night? Was that just you screwing with us and then… blipping back down here before we came in?"

Clive shook his head. "There was no one upstairs. I'm not much of a 'blipper,' Detective. This is the only place I have been able to appear to you."

"We saw a light, and a silhouette in the window."

"It was your imagination. It is not possible for there to have been anyone upstairs."

He sounded so sure, and indeed his melodious voice brooked no argument. Juliet had no sense he was being deceptive, but she knew what she and Carlton had seen, and it was no trick of the light.

"I didn't send Lila or Carrie to you either, and yes, I am aware they visited. Nor did I summon Carrie to her bedroom at the Bates house. Perhaps I have my own angel." Juliet could have sworn he was smiling.

As the voice said, "You do," the room brightened.

As Juliet registered that the voice was female and came from behind them, the room brightened further.

As Carlton took her hand and drew her back from the door, closer to him, the glow illuminated them all.

Clive Collins was a man of distinguished and yet studious appearance, one she could easily imagine burying himself in the complexity and security of numbers for a living.

The young woman who had drifted into view had dark hair and eyes and a gentle smile. She wore a simple dress, something dating back many many years.

Clive said her name wonderingly, and Juliet wasn't surprised.

"Dana."

"It's time to come home, Clive."

"_Dana_," he breathed.

"I've been waiting a long time for you. You've done enough here."

Juliet was mesmerized, and as they watched, Clive Collins and Dana Starling embraced, two misty shapes becoming one in the glow Dana had brought with her.

The glow they'd seen in the upstairs window, she understood now.

Her heart was pounding. Carlton clutched her hand tightly and she could see his large blue eyes bright with emotion of his own.

Clive dropped to his knee and kissed Dana's hand, but she drew him back up with a gentle reassurance that he need not, that he was and would forever be her prince.

They had forgotten anyone else was in the room, their murmurings too quiet to be understood by the mortals among them.

She tugged on Carlton's hand, and they slipped out into the cold dark street.

At the car, they turned to watch the window of Clive's office.

A golden light from within gave a glow to the night, and just as it faded, just as Carlton turned to smile at her, his phone buzzed with a text.

_My compliments on your work with Cartavious last October. _

_And once again, thank you. WE thank you._

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**E.P.I.L.O.G.U.E.**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

After the first of the year, Jason Bates' trial having successfully concluded with his life sentence, Carlton and Juliet had official reason to call on a business owner located down the street from 2613 Addams.

They hadn't been back to the area since that night, and they hadn't 'heard' from Clive Collins or anyone else who had no earthly reason to contact them, and they hadn't even really discussed what happened.

…other than Carlton pointing out that he hoped this sort of encounter wasn't going to be a _regular_ component of their Octobers.

It was broad daylight, and the street seemed oddly unfamiliar, since their other visits had been in the dark.

They reached the end of the block before Juliet said, "Um, where was 2613?"

Carlton looked both ways before swinging the Crown Vic around.

At the other end of the block, she said, "And?"

They parked and got out.

2611 was the bookstore. 2615 was the antiques store.

The space between was empty. Tufts of grass, bits of brick and glass, ordinary street debris. Empty.

"Must have just been torn down," he suggested, although it had the look of a long-deserted lot.

Juliet marched into the antiques store. When he caught up, she'd already found an elderly lady at the counter polishing a blue glass insulator. She flashed her badge. "We have a question about the place next door."

"About time," the woman fussed. "I've been calling in about the smells for months."

He was instantly on alert. "What kind of smells? Dead body smells?"

Juliet rolled her eyes at him; the woman said, "What? No! It's those chemicals."

He felt his impatience rising. "What chemicals?"

"From that salon! They must be poisoning their clients. Judging by some of the styles I see walking out of there, I _know_ they're causing brain damage."

"Ma'am!" Juliet said loudly. "We're asking about the _other_ building next door." She pointed north.

The lady set the insulator down. "What, the bookstore? What about it?"

"No. Not the bookstore. That's not _next door_, is it?"

"No need to be snippy," she huffed.

"Sorry," Juliet managed, but Carlton knew she wasn't sincere because her jaw was clenched.

He thought it best to jump in. "The empty lot. What happened to the building that was there?"

"Oh. They tore it down. Said they were going to put in a Starbucks, but do you see one?"

"I wish I did." Damn, he wished he did.

"_When_ was it torn down?"

"Oh, I don't know. Ten years? Fifteen years?" She smirked. "Why? Did you just notice it was missing?"

_Yeah_, he wanted to say. _Yeah, we did_.

He knew it didn't matter. It wasn't as if the building, still standing, would give any answers they hadn't already gotten.

They walked onto the gravelly, dusty lot, and Juliet went to stand about where Clive Collins had stood, by a window which was no longer there.

Birds chirped, the sun shone, and the faint breeze was cold.

"We never really talked about it." Her voice was soft.

"We didn't have to, did we?" He wasn't unwilling; he just hadn't known where to start.

"I guess not."

He joined her in Clive's favorite spot.

"He's at peace now?" she asked after a moment.

"He deserves to be."

"You think they're together?"

"I hope they are."

"You think Lila and Carrie are at peace too?"

"Yes," he said more firmly, and he did believe it. "What about you, Juliet? Are you at peace too?"

She looked up at him, the sun on her face and a smile in her eyes. "I always am when you're with me."

He bent to kiss her cheek, right there under God and everything.

"I'll be with you as long as you let me."

They smiled at each other.

His phone buzzed.

"Yeah," she said calmly. "Don't read that."

"It's not October."

"Still."

Still. He agreed, and they went to talk to the guy they'd come out here to see in the first place, and later when he did look at the phone, there was no message at all.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . .**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

**E N D**


End file.
